


Isn't That What Superheroes Do?

by Anonymous



Category: DCU, Green Arrow (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Addiction, Alcoholism, Angst, Anxiety, Drug Addiction, Gen, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Near Relapse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-27 03:15:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19782103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: "But really... Isn't that what superheroes do? Save things?"Maybe…Maybe it hadn't been as bad as he remembered. As bad as everyone told him it was. He’d been so blissed out. So completely and totally unaware of what was going on around him. And just once wouldn’t hurt. Couldn’t hurt. Right?Roy has a rough night struggling in his recovery.





	Isn't That What Superheroes Do?

**Author's Note:**

> This fic deals with a very close relapse for Roy. As such, it features comment that may be triggering. Proceed with caution.

**But really, isn’t that what superheroes do? Save things?**

He hadn't meant to, but then again he never really meant to. And the worst part? He didn’t even know what set it off. One minute, he’d been getting ready for bed, and the next, he was lying down, curled up on his side, staring at the wall opposite him, and wishing his mind would just  _ shut up.   
_

Maybe…

Maybe it hadn't been as bad as he remembered. As bad as everyone told him it was. He’d been so blissed out. So completely and totally unaware of what was going on around him. And just once wouldn’t hurt. Couldn’t hurt. Right?   


_ It’s never just once. _

He reached over and turned his bedside lamp on. Maybe… Maybe he could distract himself. Wasn’t he supposed to distract himself? Find things to do until the urge passed. Until the bad thoughts passed. This was temporary. He would get past it. He had for years. Right?

He started to reach for his phone. Text Jason. Text Kory. Text  _ anyone.  _ Call Croc? No. He didn’t want to do that. Didn’t want to bother him.  _ You’re supposed to, Roy. That’s the point,  _ the voice in the back of his head nagged, but it was getting lost in the other thoughts racing through his head.

He wrapped his fingers around his phone and paused, staring at his arm. If he looked hard enough, he could swear he saw track marks still. Pretty little dots that had adorned his veins for months (years? he didn’t quite remember anymore). If he clenched his fist, he could see a pretty little blue vein pop up. If he had a shoelace he could…

Maybe…

Maybe it would be okay if he did something else. Anything else. Something less… Bad.  _ It’s all bad, kid,  _ Croc’s voice tried to force its way into the mess. Fuck Croc. Fuck his opinions and his lectures… What the hell did he know anyway?

_ Just gotta stay distracted, Harper. _

He scrolled through his contacts. Jason would still be awake, probably. He never slept… But it was 5 AM in Gotham, and Roy didn’t want to risk bothering him. Didn’t want Jason to be upset with him the same way everyone else always seemed to be…

He ran a nervous hand through his hair, tugging at it, trying to snap himself back to reality.  _ It’ll pass.   
_

Ollie? Ollie would answer. Ollie always answered, but…  _ You’re just a junkie. _

He screwed his eyes shut at the memory. The harsh crack that had replaced stunned silence when Ollie’s hand had connected with Roy’s cheek. If he thought about it long enough, he could still feel the sting. Could still feel the heat rising to his cheeks, out of anger or embarrassment or both he still wasn’t sure.

He just needed…

To watch something? Read something? Go tear something apart and put it back together?

He just needed…

To call someone? Anyone? Just have them on the line so he didn’t do anything stupid?

He just needed....

One drink. One hit. Just one.

Just one and everything would be okay again. He’d hate himself in the morning, but he wouldn’t go back, and everything would be fine, and his head would finally shut up, and maybe he’d even get some goddamned sleep if it was the good stuff.

He groaned and stared up at his ceiling for a long moment, trying to figure out what to do. If it was worth it.  _ Call Croc,  _ the rational part of his brain screamed, and he tried to push it back down with the rest of the thoughts that kept bubbling and screaming and racing so fast he couldn’t find the signal in the noise.

He swore under his breath and rolled out of bed, not bothering with the lamp. He was pretty sure his neighbor dealt something, though he wasn’t sure what, but… No. No. He couldn’t go back down that road. Not again. Needed something easier. Something quicker. Something less… Bad.  _ It’s all bad. _

He padded into the bathroom and pulled the medicine cabinet open, swearing when nothing was particularly strong. NSAIDs, not narcotics. He’d dumped out his prescription strength cough syrup as soon as he stopped needing it.  _ Need it now.  _ Neosporin. Jason’s box of nicotine patches he’d left God only knew how long ago.  _ Empty.  _ Toothpaste. Peroxide. Floss…

Listerine.

His eyes zeroed in on the bottle, honing in on the unnaturally purple liquid inside. It would taste awful and burn like hell, but…   


He swore when he looked at the label.

_ Alcohol free. _

A distressed sound escaped from his throat as he shoved the bottle back into the cabinet, slamming the door shut.

God.   


When was the last time he’d been so desperate?

He clenched the sides of the sink and stared up at himself in the mirror. It had taken years to get back to this point. Face no longer sunken in. Eyes that actually looked well rested for once. Hair that was healthy and shiny and not stringy and in desperate need of a wash.

_ You’re better than this,  _ he tried to tell himself, but the bad thoughts kept piling in on top.  _ You aren’t good enough. You never were. It hurts. Just once. Everyone drinks. At least it’s not drugs. At least it’s not heroin. At least I’m not dead, right? _

“God dammit!” he screamed and pushed himself away, back against the wall.

Wasn’t this supposed to be easier by now?

Four years clean. Three years sober…

He’d worked so hard. So damned hard…

_ What’s the fucking point? _

He sank down to the floor and stared up at the harsh bathroom lighting. His nails were scratching at his arm before he even knew what they were doing.  _ It hurts. I need it. It’s just one time. It’s prescription. The doctor said it was okay… _

He shut his eyes and scrubbed his face with his hands before re-opening them and staring back at the cabinet. Empty box of nicotine patches Jason had left. Then maybe…

He jumped to his feet and ran off to the coat closet.

He rummaged through until he found one of Jason’s jackets hanging in the back. He’d hated it being in there. Made everything else smell like cigarette smoke. But now? Now he would have killed for that smell to surround him. For any of it.  _ It’s just a cigarette.   
_

He moved his hands through the pockets and swore loudly when they were empty too.  _ Damn him. _

There was a convenience store around the corner… They sold cigarettes and cheap beer, and it wasn’t like anyone would see him at four in the morning… Not like he’d run into Ollie or Dinah or Croc or Connor or Mia or anyone else who knew. Who would care.

Hell. He wouldn’t even have to drive.

His body seemed to be on autopilot as he pulled a shirt on over his pajama pants, slid his shoes on, and grabbed his keys. He felt out of control of his body, like he was watching from above, as he opened his door and locked it behind him.

It wasn’t like this would be a regular thing.

Just one pack of cigs. Just one six pack of beer. Not even enough to get completely smashed on…

His feet carried him down the street, and he was standing in the doorway of the stupid store before he even realized he’d left his apartment.

He started down the aisle and headed toward the back. Almost done. Almost over. Just this one time and everything would be fine. Everything would go back to normal…

_ How many times did you say that before? _

Besides. Booze and smokes were cheaper than H. And not nearly as bad for him, right? Cheaper. Not as hard on the body? Save his wallet. Save his kidneys...  _ And isn’t that what superheroes do?  _ he asked himself as he started to reach for a box.  _ Save things? _

A panicked laugh escaped him, and he looked around in horror, hoping no one heard. No one saw.

_ What are you doing? _

His hand hovered over the box. It would be easy. Pay at the counter. Ask for a pack of menthols. Be on his way. Drunk within the hour. Bad thoughts a distant memory.  _ At least until they start up again. _

He bit his bottom lip and dropped his hand, reaching for the phone in his pocket instead.

He shut his eyes and took a breath, not sure he really wanted to do this. Not sure he really wanted to do the alternative, either…

_ ‘Can you come get me?’ _

He sat down in the aisle and stared at the display, not caring if it ticked the clerk off. Besides. Night clerks probably saw weirder shit anyway, right?

He didn’t know if he wanted to laugh or to cry or to throw his phone across the store and watch the screen shatter when he felt his phone buzz.

He looked down and saw Ollie’s name pop up on the screen. Damn him and his quick response time.

_ ‘Sure thing. Everything okay?’ _

He stared at the display again, glancing between it and his phone and trying to  _ think.  _ No. Nothing was okay. ANd he didn’t know what to do or how to make it okay again, and he just wanted to scream or drown it all out or scream  _ and  _ drown it all out and…

_ ‘No.’ _

He hated how hard it was to type that word. Two stupid letters. Two stupid clicking sounds on his phone.

_ ‘I need help.’ _


End file.
